Deer God
by Jinichu
Summary: A young adolescent boy has to confront his own repressed homosexuality with the help of his fellow students and one special friend.


_Hate really isn't the opposite of love; indifference is. Hate means you still care about someone enough to have strong feelings for them, even if they're negative feelings. Hate is basically love, except, you know, it's hate._

_Hey, I wonder if "I hate you" could ever replace "I love you"?_

I'm still wondering why (and how) I got dragged here.

I'm not even bothered by the loud, obnoxious music blaring in the background- no, that shit stops bothering you after listening to it for three and a half hours. The watered down punch isn't the problem either. Hell, I'm almost _glad_ how disgusting the punch is because it helps me draw some attention away from everything else that's bad. Actually, the setting isn't even that bad. The carpet is freshly vacuumed, or at least was before people walked inside of the house with their shoes but you know, you can kind of see that the effort was there. The walls are painted with tasteful colours and by that I don't mean neon purple and by _that_ I _totally _mean neon purple. I think I just have a problem with the kind of people here: mindless (probably horny) teenagers itching to somehow fit in this sea of confusion and angst and insecurity because hey, who doesn't like to fit in? That's why we're all here , right?

Wrong, I got dragged here and I'm still trying to figure out how.

Actually, scratch that. I don't even have a problem with the people. Like sure most of them are probably just here to get drunk off of cheap alcohol and maybe get lucky enough to score, but watching their attempts to try and strike a conversation with others is amusing. Observing drunken people grind against each other is pretty cool too. And hey, you never know if you'll hit a gold mine and meet someone that actually has a brain. Not that I have my hopes up tonight.

Maybe I dragged myself into this.

I pull out a chair and sit in front of the counter I was leaning against a few seconds ago. Ever since I've came here, I 've only been to two places: the kitchen counter and the bathroom. I mean, where else could I possibly go while still avoiding human contact with the oddballs?

Funny, because the drinks are actually all up on the counter and an oddball comes over here every thirty seconds. I've talked to a few of them, or at least tried to. And I admit, I've had a few drinks myself but I'm not wasted like _some _people.

Maybe I did drag myself into this. Where did Dorian even go? Did I even come here with him?

I'm totally losing it.

I pour myself another glass of punch (probably spiked but you know) and take a slow sip. God, is this supposed to be strawberry or cough medicine? Why do I keep drinking this shit?

"Heeeeeey Connor."

I turn around and see a girl pull out a chair next to me. Her hair's a mess and covering most of her face but I can tell who it is from her voice.

"Care for some punch, Rachel?"

"I'm _so_ good. You can't imaaagine how many times I had to go to the bathroom tonight." Her words come out slurred and sloppy.

"Ahah, I could guess." But not really.

"I know, riiiiiiiiiiiiiiite?" Resting her head on the counter, she looks at me. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Mm, I haven't killed myself yet." I take another sip.

She throws her head back and laughs a little too loudly to be sincere. "Oh, you and your jokes. Always makes me laugh."

"That wasn't a joke though." She throws her head back again and I cringe.

"Funny Connor. Funny as ever!" She gives me a nudge on my arm. "You're a funny guy, Connor."

"Mmmmmmhm. I can tell by your uncontrollable laughter." I give her a nod and look away from her.

"Oh, you're _so_ cute." She gets up from her spot and pats my shoulder a little too hard. "I'm gonna go find other people. Talk to you later~?"

I wave to her, still not looking. "You know it." But not really.

Staring at the punch bowl, I wonder how many hours it has been and how many hours I'll have to be here. I estimate it's going to be a while before I get to go home, unless I take off without Dorian and just walk of course. But my house is an hour walk from here and I'm not really feeling it.

Speaking of which, where _is_ Dorian?

Probably playing Twister.

I try to make out what song is playing right now but everything sounds pretty much the same and I'm convinced they played this song an hour ago already. Are people really that drunk to notice, or do they just not care? And how are people still going at it after hours and hours of dancing?

My feet hurt from just thinking about it.

I decide it's probably a good idea to find a place to lie down and take a nap for a few hours. Killing a little time never hurts. Too bad there are already people sprawled out on the couches, pretty much dead. Not that it's any of my concern.

I make my way upstairs to find a bedroom and find myself out of luck. All the bedroom doors are locked and judging by the sound of all of them, I don't think they'll appreciate if I knock.

I knock anyways. Every door ignores me. Cool.

With my head spinning, I drag my feet downstairs again, hoping to find some space on the couches. To my surprise, there's a completely empty couch in front of the TV. How.

I lie down, the warm leather pressing against my back. I stare at the ceiling, trying not to pay attention to the guy and girl making out five feet away from me. I glance at my watch. Time sure is going slowly. I really want to go home. Nothing's that interesting anymore-not even the shitty punch.

I close my eyes for what feels like two seconds but actually is twenty minutes. I feel a nudge on my foot.

"Hey... hey you. Mind moving a bit? Are you awake?"

I lift my head up a little and try to make out who's by my feet. Dark, longish hair, stocky, gray Armani shirt. His voice almost doesn't match his appearance-it's a lot higher and gentle than you would expect from a dense guy like him.

His face is blank. "Hey, you. I kinda want to sit. Could you move?"

I give him a look that probably looks like a death glare even though I don't mean to. His facial expression doesn't change however. He sighs and sits on the arm rest of the couch, looking away from me. I stare at him for a few seconds before resting my head again.

"What's your name?" I find myself asking a moment later. I hear a shift from the other end of the couch-I assume he turned around.

"Huh?"

"You probably have a name, right?"

"Oh. James. You?"

I close my eyes. "Connor."

"Cool." Another shift. "How are you, Connor?"

"Less suicidal than earlier, but I could still kill myself and be fine with it." I lift my head again and give him a smile. He nods without the slightest change in expression.

"That's good. What made you happier?"

I pause, wondering if this guy thinks I'm serious. Probably, actually. "Drugs," I finally say.

"Haha. Do you often blaze?"

"Only multiple times a day, everyday." I try to guess what's on his mind but his face remains blank.

He lets out a soft chuckle. "That's the best. I'd be happy too if I got baked everyday."

Does he think I'm serious or is he joking along with me? Not that it mattered.

I contemplate on maybe clarifying that I don't, in fact, to marijuana but I decide against it. Who cares if he thinks I'm serious, it's not like I'm going to talk to him ever again. And even if I do, it's not like I care about what he thinks of me.

Besides, he looks like he honestly doesn't care who his friends are.

I wonder if he has friends and if yes, where are there?

He seems too quiet to be enjoying himself. I wonder if he was dragged into this as well?

When I open my mouth to say something, I realize he has fallen asleep on the arm rest. I check my watch; an hour since I last checked it. Was I daydreaming or something? At least time passed a little quicker.

I glance over at James. He looks quite peaceful while he's asleep. I wonder if I do too.

Probably.

I assume Dorian won't leave until another few hours, so I make myself comfortable on the couch. Er, well, as comfortable as I can on a couch.

My eyes wander to the guy and girl from earlier, who passed out on each other. I turn away from them and close my eyes, dubstep echoing through my ears.


End file.
